


Drag the Mountain Down

by blackkat



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Kid Fic, M/M, Self-Discovery, Wanderlust, anti-ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-07-22 20:06:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7452289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Naruto turns his face towards the rising wind, puts Konoha at his back, and walks forward. </p><p>(Sometimes dreams change. Sometimes children grow up. Sometimes it takes a little help to find your way back to who you used to be.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by [this picture](http://blackkatmagic.tumblr.com/post/147139499095/xayti-i-wear-your-grandads-clothes-i-look) and [this post](http://blackkatmagic.tumblr.com/post/147140268565/wanderingthewilds-it-started-over-sasunaru) on Tumblr. I just hate what Naruto became post-699, and this is my way of dealing with it. It will eventually turn into SasuNaru, because that’s what flavor of trash I am.

Kakashi finds him in the aftermath of the dream, perched on top of the Yondaime’s carved head as the moon rises. He’s not looking over Konoha (and maybe that should be the first sign) but away. Away from the lights of his village, away from his small family, away from everything.

Still clad in his robes as the Rokudaime, hat dangling down his back, Kakashi takes a seat beside him on the day-warm stone, and says idly, “I thought brooding was Sasuke's purview, not yours, Naruto.”

Naruto doesn’t look away from the moon, nearly full as it sails between the tattered rags of the clouds, overwhelming the clearer, colder light of the stars. “Nightmare,” he says in explanation, though it’s not quite true. But then, Naruto's become good at half-truths and skirting just past actual lies over the past years, hasn’t he?

Whatever the dream was, it wasn’t a nightmare. It was hardly good, but not quite bad, either. More just…unsettling. Disturbing. It’s making Naruto think, when for so long he’s been trapped in numbing grayness that never lifts.

Kakashi hums like he knows, both what Naruto's saying and what he’s avoiding. “The sun will be up in six hours,” he says, and it should sound like a change of subject, but somehow it doesn’t. He doesn’t quite add _are you ready_ , even though Naruto knows he wants to say it. Everyone asks him that, now.

Maybe he should take that as a sign as well.

“Ready for me to take that hat, Kakashi-sensei?” Naruto asks, trying to smile, but there's nothing of his heart in it. It’s been so _long_ since the last time he really smiled, and just trying to remember when that was physically hurts.

Thankfully, Kakashi doesn’t call him on it, doesn’t do more than smile knowingly. He glances down and over, past the carved image of Tsunade, past his own image. There's an empty spot on the mountain, already prepared, even though tradition dictates a month in office before the new Hokage's face is added to the monument. Everyone is happy about tomorrow—today, rather. Everyone is looking forward to it, prepared, ready for this final step.

Everyone but Naruto, it seems.

The memory of the dream sits uneasily in Naruto's chest, too heavy for something so insubstantial. He doesn’t recall all of it, only bits and pieces, scattered fragments given meaning by their lack of cohesion more than anything. The part that stands out to him the most is a sad smile, weary dark eyes, white hair tangled and sun-bleached to an even fairer shade. He hasn’t truly thought of Jiraiya in years, so why now? Why here, on the eve of getting everything he’s ever wanted?

“Once,” Kakashi says quietly, “I wanted to be just like my father.”

Naruto looks up, because even now, so far distant from the past, Kakashi doesn’t talk about his parents. His teacher’s eyes are staring out at nothing, and one of his hands comes up to touch the cord that holds the Hokage's hat around his neck. There's a moment, and then Kakashi looks at him, eyes crinkling in a familiar smile that always has equal odds of being a complete lie. “Then I wanted to be his opposite, and follow the rules no matter what. And then…then I wanted to be a good friend, even if it killed me. I learned, even if it took me years.”

He doesn’t say anything more, just pushes to his feet with a muffled groan, and it’s a stark reminder that Kakashi is getting old. Naruto hates it, suddenly and with a fervor he can't quite understand. Kakashi has been _good_ as the Rokudaime. He’s done more for Konoha that Naruto can name with a pen, some paper, and all day to make a list. But he’s _sad_ , and he has been for years now. Tired and sad and worn, and Naruto's breath catches in his throat at the thought and the pang it strikes in his chest.

A callused hand drops onto his shoulder, and Naruto looks up into his old teacher’s face. Kakashi's dark grey eyes are warm, even though they're weary, and he smiles again when Naruto holds his gaze. “Your parents would be proud of you,” he says, and it settles like a lead weight on Naruto's shoulders, until Kakashi gentles his voice and adds, “Naruto. As long as you make yourself happy, they’ll be proud. It doesn’t matter what you do. Just that you do what you _want_.”

He squeezes lightly and then steps away, and Naruto turns his head, listening to the retreating footsteps as they head back down the path.

A twist of night-cool air rushes past him, not from the human-hectic depths of Konoha, but from beyond it, beyond the mountain. It smells of earth and green and distant places, and Naruto closes his eyes and breathes it in.

He thinks of Jiraiya, of his smile, of the way he loved Naruto so much even if he only rarely showed it. Thinks of two years spent always traveling, always moving; of the hundreds of people, shady and respectable alike, that they met on the road. He still remembers it, even nearly twenty years distant, the feeling of going to sleep under the stars with every muscle aching from training and the feeling of advancing, growing, getting stronger.

A part of him wants to go find Sakura, who’s still one of his best friends. Surely she’d understand, except that Naruto knows she wouldn’t. Sakura has Sarada, and she’s given herself over fully to being a mother, even if Sasuke has left her. All the others of his generation have settled, had children, moved forward.

So why does it feel so much like stagnating, to Naruto?

His breath hitches, and he leans forward, bracing his elbows on his crossed legs and burying his face in his hands. His hair itches uncomfortably against his fingers, cut too short, but he hadn’t cared enough to protest when Hinata was doing it. He hasn’t cared about a lot of things in a long time.

Sitting here, so far away from everything, it’s simple to look back. Twenty years ago he was a lonely, unhappy child, so determined to make people see him. And—that brings Kakashi's words into perspective, doesn’t it? _I learned, even if it took me years._ He means he learned which dreams were important, and which mattered, and which he wanted to keep. Which he could live with for the rest of his life, and which could be discarded as the dreams of a child.

Naruto wonders, suddenly, when the last time was that he had a conversation with his son, or his daughter. How long has it been since he asked Boruto about his day, or Himawari about her dreams, or Hinata how she feels? As long, he thinks, as it’s been since he smiled without having to try. Maybe longer, even.

Naruto sighs, scrubbing his hands through his hair. He never wanted this for himself, for him to become some grim, unsmiling person. He’s always stayed cheerful, no matter what, always looked for the best in every situation and used his determination to forge a path where people say he can't go. And now, looking at the past few years, he thinks he might hate this detached, dismissive man he’s become, who barely knows his children’s faces, who hasn’t kissed his wife in months. Who doesn’t _want_ all of this, and the thought is startling in its truth, vibrating through him like a struck gong.

In all honesty, Naruto has already achieved his dreams. He’s strong enough to protect, called a hero, respected by the village that once hated him. He’s one of the greatest shinobi of his generation, his friends are alive and happy, and he’s saved as many as he can.

Becoming Hokage was always about the strength of the position, and the acknowledgement that came along with it. To a lonely, hurting little boy almost universally reviled, it was the pinnacle of respect and a heroic life. Here and now, he wonders how he managed to forget the weight of it, the age it added to Sarutobi's features, the lines it put in Tsunade's face, the tired curve it gave Kakashi's shoulders.

Naruto doesn’t want that. He’s never cared to hold that much responsibility, can't even carry of it enough to be a decent father or a good husband. The shinobi world is more peaceful now, but there are still conflicts, still squabbles and disagreements that Naruto has no patience to settle. For the past two years he’s been learning just what the Hokage's office means beyond a hat and a figurehead, and now, looking back on it, not a single thing has appealed to him. Not the ceremony of it, the politics, the power, the accountability. It would feel like chains, and of all the many wants in Naruto's thirty years of life, all he’s ever truly wanted has been freedom—from expectations, from the destiny of suffering that being a jinchuuriki implies, from hatred he never earned, from the fear of losing those he loves.

In a little under six hours he’s going to take the hat, take those chains, and wear them for the rest of his life.

He thinks, again, of Jiraiya, of Ero-Sennin. Of gruff, unpracticed kindness and a hope that could have held up the world beneath a tired exterior. Thinks of his dream, of reaching out a hand towards Jiraiya's back as he walked away, larger than life and brighter than the sun, and left Naruto behind, forgotten, in grey nothingness. His stomach rolls sickeningly, and Naruto presses a hand over his mouth, uncertainty and nerves turning to nausea that has no real cause. He gags a little, dropping his head, and tries to take deep breathes through his nose.

Gods, but this isn’t how his inauguration as Hokage should go. It should be _happy_. If he can't smile now, can't summon up even the smallest edge of joy at finally standing at the pinnacle of his dreams, what was any of it even worth?

And—that’s enough to make a decision, isn’t it? Because he _isn’t_ happy and he hasn’t been in _years_ , and even now the foggy grey sameness overwhelms everything that should be an accomplishment and weighs him down. It’s like he’s drowning, sodden clothes dragging him towards the riverbed as cold, murky water closes over his head, and he’s not _Naruto_ like this. There is nothing left, here and now, of the boy he used to be.

Maybe that’s a part of growing up, of getting old.

Naruto _hates_ it. He can't stand it, can't accept it. And if there's a way to find that bright core of himself again, the part that has always made him who he wants to be—

He’ll find it somehow, because living like this isn’t living at all.

He heaves himself to his feet, heavier than he should be, and takes a step towards the path. Then he stops, and turns. Takes another step back towards the edge, and _leaps_.

For an endless moment, he’s in freefall. The air whips past him, billowing his clothes, stinging his eyes, and then chakra whirls out around him like a buoyant cloud, cushioning his landing. He drops to the ground at the base of the mountain, beneath the faces of the six Hokage, and lands lightly on his feet. Not reckless, exactly, but not what an adult should do in anything but an emergency. It isn’t nearly enough to make Naruto smile, but he doesn’t feel quite so much like curling in on himself for the moment that the lightness lasts.

He skirts the busy streets as he makes his way into the village, moving through the more circuitous alleys that weave a maze around the edges of Konoha's walls. The people here are scattered, few and far between just after midnight, and though a handful of shinobi nod respectfully, they don’t stop to talk as Naruto heads for the Nara Clan compound. There's a guard at the gate, but she smiles at him and lets him through without demanding his business, and Naruto manages to smile back at her, even if it sits awkwardly on his face. He waves off her offer of escort, aiming his feet towards the lighted main house.

Shikamaru is the one who answers his quiet knock, looking as alert as he ever does despite the hour. He takes one look at Naruto's face and then pulls the door open all the way, stepping aside so Naruto can enter.

“It’s late,” he complains, though it’s clear his heart isn’t in it.

“Sorry,” Naruto says, and means it. “It’s important, though.”

Shikamaru stares at him for a long moment, assessing and curious, and then sighs through his nose. “Of course it is. I need coffee for this.”

Naruto snorts, but follows his friend into the brightly-lit kitchen, blinking away the spots it leaves on his vision. Papers and reports are spread out across the main table, along with a mug long since gone cold and the remains of a half-finished meal. Shikamaru shuffles through the paperwork, ordering it carefully and setting it out of the way, and then nudges the chair across from his out a little and waves Naruto into it.

“You're really choosing _now_ to do this?” he asks grouchily, his back turned as he sets up the coffee pot. “So goddamn troublesome.”

This time, the faint smile that crosses Naruto's face is real. Small, halfhearted, but unforced and still fond. Out of all the people in Konoha, he thinks Shikamaru might understand him best, or at least have observed him enough to _realize_. “Sorry,” he says again, though this time he doesn’t actually mean it at all. “You…know?”

Shikamaru shoots him the mildly scathing look that’s his equivalent of an incredulous flail, if only flailing didn’t take quite so much effort. “Some of us,” he says, “remember how to use our _brains_ , and haven’t forgotten that ninja are supposed to be observant.”

Naruto supposes that’s why Kakashi noticed, too. _Look underneath the underneath_ , and all that. Even as Rokudaime, it’s easy to forget that Kakashi is actually a genius, and probably smarter than a good percentage of Konoha combined. “I'm sorry to ask you,” he starts.

“Shut up, Naruto,” Shikamaru tells him, not unkindly, and turns to set a mug in front of each of their places and the coffee pot between them. He pours a generous amount into his cup, then passes it over, and Naruto does the same. “Of course I’ll help. But…you know you're going to break Hinata's heart.”

Naruto winces, but more for the fact that it doesn’t hurt as much as it should, the thought of damaging someone who loves him. “Hinata loves the person she thinks I am, not the man I am right now. Me being gone—I don’t think it’s going to be all that different than me being here. That’s one of the reasons I'm going. I just—don’t want her to keep clinging to something that died a long time ago. Better to cut things off before they get even worse.”

Sharp, dark eyes survey him for a long moment before Shikamaru nods, accepting that. He shuffles through his papers, pulling out a blank stack and a pen, and starts writing. “You're leaving her everything?”

That doesn’t even require thought. If Naruto can't be the husband or father he should be, at least he can make sure Hinata, Himawari, and Boruto don’t have to worry about money or housing. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. They should have it.”

Shikamaru's pen doesn’t pause. “Do you want to give her the papers or should I?”

“I wouldn’t ask you to do that, Shika,” Naruto protests, and that’s true. This is all a part of his mistake, of him getting stuck on a path with nothing he truly wants at the end of it.

“But I would,” Shikamaru says mildly, still not looking up. “After watching you the last few years, I would.”

If that doesn’t say everything Naruto needs to know, that Shikamaru would willingly put himself in the middle of an incredibly troublesome situation just to make sure Naruto actually got away, that he truly went through with it, Naruto doesn’t know what would. He huffs something that might be a laugh, running a hand over his shorn hair, and offers, “I need to say goodbye.”

Shikamaru doesn’t try to talk him out of it, doesn’t attempt to tell him that he’ll change his mind eventually. He simply nods, puts down his jaggedly messy signature, and then pushes pen and document across the table, carefully avoiding the coffee. Naruto takes it with a certain amount of resignation, but the words _Notice of Request for Divorce_ across the top don’t pain him the way they should. Trusting Shikamaru's contract to be as thorough as always, he only skims it briefly before he adds his own signature, then rolls it back up.

“You know they're going to shortlist me for the position,” Shikamaru says, and when Naruto glances up the other man is watching him again, calculating and careful. _I don’t want to steal your dream_ , he doesn’t say.

This time, Naruto’s smile is very close to genuine as he pushes to his feet, scroll clutched in one hand. “Yeah,” he confirms. “Asuma said you’d make a good one, didn’t he? Maybe you should prove him right.”

“Troublesome,” Shikamaru mutters, rubbing the bridge of his nose, but Naruto can see the smile he’s trying to hide. “See you later, Naruto.”

“Goodbye, Shika,” Naruto answers, and pretends he doesn’t see the realization that crosses Shikamaru's face at the phrasing. He offers one last halfhearted wave before he walks out, slipping the contract into pocket, and heads towards his apartment.

It’s not home, and he realizes that for the first time. Not anywhere to stay, and it’s more than time he faced that.

 

 

It’s nearly dawn when he hears the first sounds of stirring in the apartment, and looks up from where he’s sitting on the couch. It’s made up, the blankets he’s been using for the past few months neatly folded and set aside. That likely should have been a sign as well, since he and Hinata are more like strangers sharing the same space than husband and wife, but Naruto has managed to miss a lot over the years. This is just one more thing.

The bedroom door opens, then clicks quietly shut, and Hinata slips into the living room, still straightening her dress and brushing her hair back. She startles a little at the sight of him, then smiles warmly. “Naruto, you're up early. I'm sorry, I’ll have breakfast in just a minute.”

Naruto takes a deep breath as he rises to his feet, and feels his heart twist a little as her smile falters in surprise. How long has it been since they’ve really made each other happy? They must have once, right?

“That’s all right,” he says, and tries to smile back. It’s so much harder than it should be. “I'm not going to eat.”

She blinks, pale eyes filling with confusion, and takes a step back, studying him a little more carefully as worry bleeds into her features. “But it’s your inauguration, Naruto. I'm sure a good meal—”

“I'm not going to become Hokage,” Naruto says as gently as he’s able, and Hinata freezes. He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, and even though he’s spent hours trying to find the right words, he still has absolutely nothing. “Hinata, I—I'm leaving. Today. Now. I don’t even know who I am anymore, and it scares me. I'm—I've become the kind of dad Boruto and Himawari shouldn’t have to deal with, and I'm definitely not the husband you deserve.”

Maybe it’s telling that Hinata doesn’t protest. She wraps her arms around herself, but doesn’t try to reach for him, and even though he feels like he should comfort her, Naruto doesn’t. Hinata is strong. Maybe she thinks she needs him, but after the last few years, Naruto can say without hesitation that she doesn’t. He’s been worse than absent; after all, if he was gone, she could move on. All he’s done is linger, caught up in a grey morass of unchanging dullness, and drag the rest of his family to a standstill as well.

“Oh,” Hinata says, voice small, and her next breath trembles faintly. Her gaze falls on the paper sitting on the table, and clearly she knows what it is before she even reads it. “All—all right. Will you…” She trails off, takes another breath, and finishes, “Will you say goodbye to the children?”

“Yeah.” It sounds tired, even to Naruto's ears, and he has to look away. Now, looking back at the last ten years, he wonders how any of this is a surprise at all. They might have been happy at first, but Naruto has been sleeping on the couch for a long time now, and Hinata no longer smiles at him and kisses him sweetly, the way she once did. “I’ll go wake them up. I need to go soon.”

Hinata manages a nod before her hands come up to cover her face, and she turns away, hurrying towards the kitchen. Naruto aches somewhere deep inside, but not as much as he should. Not as much as it would take to convince him to stay. What he said to Shikamaru is true; Hinata loves who she thinks he is, and Naruto doesn’t even know if that man—that boy—exists anymore. Even if he does, Naruto doesn’t think they can ever go back to what they were. Too much time has passed, too many things have happened, and there's no changing that.

With another faint sigh, he heads for the kids’ bedrooms, hoping those conversations will go better than this one did.

 

 

A henge is enough for Naruto to slip out of the village unnoticed, and the guards barely even glance at him as he walks past, too busy checking a merchant’s paperwork as she tries to hurry them along. Naruto even waves, and gets an absent nod from Moegi as she answers the woman’s demands. Then he’s out the gates with the road before him and the sun rising above him. He walks, not quickly, not slowly, but at the steady pace he remembers from so many years ago, and thinks again of Jiraiya's back in front of him, moving away.

There's still a heavy, empty sort of bleakness in his chest, entrenched like a stubborn infection, but there are no walls to close in on him, no looming buildings and approaching dread. Only the road before him, the pack bumping against his spine, the thud of the bare earth beneath his sandals. Naruto takes a breath, raises his face to the sky that’s dawning clear and blue, and closes his eyes, taking in the warmth of the first slanting rays of sunlight slipping across the forest.

Then he turns his face towards the rising wind, puts Konoha at his back, and walks forward.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yes, Naruto makes terrible decisions and is a deadbeat dad—I didn’t think this required a warning, seeing as his neglect of Boruto is actually canon, but consider yourself warned. I promise a happy ending in a few chapters.
> 
> There's not going to be a posting schedule for this fic, but I do want to get it done ASAP, so hopefully it will be fairly quick. I appreciate your comments and kudos so much, you guys honestly make my entire day. :)

With the memory of Jiraiya so close to every step he takes, Naruto picks his first destination on a whim and with no little amusement directed at himself. Still, it’s almost entirely worth the long trip, just for the look on Suigetsu’s face when he pulls open the heavy door of Orochimaru’s latest lab and Naruto tips his sakkat back enough to show his face.

“What the _fuck_?” Suigetsu splutters, reaching for his sword. “What the hell is the Hokage doing here?!”

“Not the Hokage. At least, not yet,” a smooth voice counters from behind him, and Orochimaru moves into view, making Suigetsu skitter out of the way. A pale hand catches the edge of the door before it can swing closed, and golden eyes slide over him, as deceptively harmless as a snake lazing in the sun. “Naruto. What a surprise. Has something happened to Mitsuki?”

It’s a sign of just how far Naruto was from his son’s life that it takes him a moment to remember that the two boys are friends. “You’d probably know better than I would,” he says honestly.

Orochimaru doesn’t attempt to deny it, simply inclines his head with a faint, sly smile. “Indeed I would. Whatever can I do for Konoha's runaway Hokage candidate?”

“You can just…not tell Konoha you saw me,” Naruto says, and it comes out a little sheepishly. “Did you ever keep track of Ero-Sennin’s old contacts?”

Slender black brows wing upward, and after a moment of silent contemplation Orochimaru steps back, gesturing for him to come in. “Indeed I did. It was the only way to remain a step ahead of Jiraiya as he chased me. Was there something you needed to know?”

Naruto steps inside, trying not to feel too closed in by the walls of the corridor that leads down into the earth. “Names and locations, if you still have them. I—I don’t have money to pay you for the information, but I can—”

Orochimaru holds up a hand to stop him, then turns down a side passage. “Consider it one last favor to Jiraiya that I will demand recompense for the next time we meet. Though I suppose it won't be quite the same.”

Naruto's breath catches at that, and he stops short. “What?” he demands.

Orochimaru pauses, though he doesn’t turn fully. Instead, his head tilts just enough for Naruto to see the snake-smile on his painted lips—because if that’s not lipstick, Naruto will eat his hat, pointy side first—and he says idly, “I've so much time on my hands, you see, now that I have no reason to overthrow Konoha and my former student is so determined to keep me in line. It’s amazing, isn’t it, how you can find DNA on the most innocuous things.”

He takes a step forward, but before he can get any further down the hall Naruto grabs his shoulder and jerks him around, ignoring the edge of dangerous indignation that flares in golden eyes. “You're _cloning Jiraiya_?” he demands hotly, and the rush of emotion is impossibly foreign, something he can't remember feeling in far too long. Anger, horror, hope, disbelief, _joy_ — “Why? You hated him!”

Orochimaru doesn’t quite roll his eyes, but the implication is definitely there in the way he brushes off Naruto's hand, in the annoyance that’s plain on his face. “As my dear student hated you,” he says, and Naruto opens his mouth to protest that Sasuke has never hated him before he realizes that’s exactly the point the Snake Sannin is making. He closes it, and doesn’t try to grab Orochimaru again when he puts an arm’s length of space between them. And then—

Naruto isn’t so good at logic. But instinct usually works for him when logic fails, and he has a burst of it now, hard on the heels of Orochimaru’s question about his son. “You—and Jiraiya. Mitsuki, he’s yours and Jiraiya's.”

That earns him a flicker of surprise, and Orochimaru regards him with something that falls midway between amusement and respect. “I'm unsure how much Jiraiya can claim of him, given that I used his DNA without permission years after his death, but yes. Mitsuki shares our blood. Well done, Naruto. Perhaps Sasuke was correct about you actually having a brain after all.”

Naruto ignores the jab, though it’s nice to think that Sasuke defended him to his teacher. His mind is stuck on the thought of Orochimaru using Jiraiya's DNA, on Mitsuki, on the idea of another clone. Of his dream, the night before he left Konoha, and the way he chased after Jiraiya's retreating back only to be caught and held in the grey fog of his stagnating life. “Can I—can I see him?” he manages to get out.

There's a long moment of silence as Orochimaru studies him, and then the Sannin turns away with a dismissive flick of his hand. “Do what you like. I have no use for a boy too stubborn to be molded as I desire. He’s a failed experiment and nothing more.”

Naruto might believe that, but he’s always been better at reading people than anyone thinks, better at understanding emotion. _Too stubborn to be molded_ , Orochimaru says, but Naruto's fairly certain that what he means is _he’s too much like Jiraiya and it hurts._ That would certainly be his reaction, watching a clone of Sasuke if his teammate was the one who died. And to even tell him about the boy in the first place—and there's no doubt Orochimaru deliberately let the information slip—this must be the outcome Orochimaru wanted all along, for Naruto to see him, take him away. This is his price for the information about Jiraiya's spy networks, though he’d never say as much out loud.

Just to warn him, Naruto says quietly, without an ounce of joking, “If I see him up close I might not give him back.”

Orochimaru doesn’t even pause, steps steady and measured as he walks away, and that’s confirmation enough of Naruto's suspicion. “I have no use for fools, regardless of their age. On your own head be it. It will take some time to locate my files, but I should have them for you by the end of the day.”

That’s the closest thing to blessing Orochimaru is capable of giving, so Naruto doesn’t bother following him. Instead, he turns expectantly to Suigetsu, who’s sulking in the shadows behind him, and says, “Do you know where he is?”

Suigetsu falters, casting a wary glance at Orochimaru’s retreating back, and then sighs dramatically and turns on his heel. “Whatever. All of your old grudges and crap are too much stupidity for me to deal with. I don’t get paid enough for this shit.” He heads down another path, but before they've even gone a hundred feet he bursts out with, “You're really not gonna be Hokage? I mean, I thought that was your _thing_.”

Naruto brushes his sakkat back, letting it hang down his back by the strings, and doesn’t feel even the slightest pang of regret for what he gave up when he walked out of Konoha. He doesn’t answer, and though Suigetsu casts him a curious, wary look, he doesn’t ask again.

Down three long corridors, through a laboratory, and down a flight of stairs, Suigetsu finally halts in front of a plain grey door. He hooks a thumb at it with a faint scowl, and warns, “Knock first, the brat’s a biter. And watch your shins. The little shit has started kicking people who barge in there now, too.”

Naruto eyes the man judgmentally, because maybe he wasn’t a good father, but he at least knows that kids need their space and their privacy. Suigetsu makes a face at him, mutters an insult, and retreats quickly, clearly not about to risk the wrath of the child.

When the last echo of his footsteps has faded, Naruto looks back at the door, hesitating. He remembers, again, Jiraiya in his dream, the white hair, the broad shoulders. Remembers the grief and terror and misery he felt as Jiraiya moved away and left him behind, and wonders if it was a message. He’s been helped by too many of the dead to believe that anyone is ever fully gone, or that the borders of life and death can't be crossed with a strong enough will.

If there was one thing Jiraiya always possessed in excess, it was willpower, and Naruto is fully aware that the man would hit him over the head hard enough to leave him seeing stars if he was around right now and saw what Naruto has become. Maybe the dream was his way of doing it from beyond the grave.

The thought doesn’t quite make Naruto smile, but it lightens the heaviness in his heart, and he raps his knuckles gently against the metal. There's a long pause, a faint scuffle, and then the lock clicks. The door swings inward, and a pair of suspicious black eyes peer up at Naruto from the level of his waist.

“Yeah?” the kid asks warily, and Naruto feels like he can't breathe. He’s seen Tsunade's photo of her genin team, after all, and—this boy looks exactly the same. There's not an ounce of difference, even in the cut of his clothes, the red clan markings under his eyes.

If Naruto ever thought Orochimaru wasn’t a sentimental bastard, this is pretty solid proof to the contrary.

“My name’s Naruto,” he manages after a second, though his throat feels thick and the words are all but impossible to find.

At that, the boy’s eyes light up, and he grins brilliantly. “Oh! You were Dad’s student! Are you gonna train me to be an amazing ninja, like Dad did for you?”

It’s stupid. Naruto has proved twice over that he’s a failure as anything resembling a father figure, that he can't even manage a life settled in a village with a child. Now he wants to take one traveling with him? Now he thinks he’ll do any better with no steady source of income, no home, no support?

“Yeah,” he says, and tries to smile back, because apparently Sakura and Sasuke were right when they called him an idiot so many times. Because apparently Naruto really is that stupid, since he can't find it in himself to regret the words. “If you want, I think I could teach you a couple of things. What's your name, brat?”

“I'm not a brat!” He sticks his tongue out at Naruto, and damn it, he can't be more than ten. “And it’s Jiraiya, just like my dad!”

Of course it is. Orochimaru physically created a child that is his and Jiraiya's son; how could Naruto think he’d name an exact clone of the man anything else? “Right,” he says, a little helplessly. “Have you got stuff to pack? If you're coming with me, we’re going to be doing a lot of traveling.”

Jiraiya turns and bolts back into the room, leaving the door wide open. Naruto supposes this is enough of an invitation and follows, to find the white head buried in a closet as clothes go flying out to pile on the bed. “Where are we going first? Somewhere cool? Are we gonna take a boat? A caravan? Are we walking?” He jerks up, turning around with wide, enthusiastic eyes, and grins. “Can we see a _bathhouse_? That idiot Suigetsu says there's lots and lots of hot girls there, and they're _naked_! But Aunt Karin always hits him for it, and me, because she’s _mean_.” Then he stops, confusion overtaking his face, and asks warily, “Are you okay, mister?”

It’s only then that Naruto feels the wetness on his cheeks, the way his eyes are burning, feels the hitch in his lungs. He presses his hands over his face and sinks down to the floor, unable to tell if it’s joy or grief that’s filling him up and pouring out as pure emotion. It hurts, aches like a fist through his chest, and Naruto would know. He leans forward, burying his head in his hands, and chokes on the laugh the bubbles up in his throat. Tears drip down to wet his palms, scatter across the fabric of his pants, but he doesn’t try to stop them.

“Yeah,” he says, and that’s helpless, too. “We’ll do all of it, I promise. Just—just not the women’s bathhouse, or your aunt Tsunade will _murder_ me.”

“I just want to _see_ ,” Jiraiya complains, but doesn’t otherwise argue. “Suigetsu says it’s cool.”

“Suigetsu is an idiot,” Karin says sharply, and Naruto looks up to find her in the doorway, glaring down at Jiraiya with all the wrath of an angry goddess. He forgets, sometimes, that there's another Uzumaki around, and that she’s a little like he’s heard Kushina was, at least according to Kakashi. “I thought I told you never to listen to him, midget!”

Jiraiya makes a face at her. “You're not cute at all,” he retorts.

Karin makes a sound of incoherent rage, taking a step forward, and Jiraiya bolts for what looks like the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. “I'm packing!” he shouts. “Go away!”

Revenge thwarted, Karin halts in the middle of the room and drags a hand through her red hair with an aggrieved sigh. “I'm _so glad_ you're taking him,” she tells Naruto, though she keeps her voice low underneath the crashing and banging coming from the bathroom. “This isn’t a good place to raise a child, _especially_ one with that much energy. Good luck, because you're going to need it.”

Naruto chuckles, and if it comes out a little wet and strangled, it’s still more genuine than anything he’s felt in years. “He can't be any worse than me as a kid, and what Ero-Sennin had to put up with.”

Karin rolls her eyes with a harrumph. “I’ll believe it when I see it. Orochimaru-sama wanted me to bring you these.” She waves the bundle of cloth in her hand. “If you're going to be offended, take it up with him.”

With that heartening endorsement, he accepts the pile warily, and has to choke down another rough laugh when he sees what it is. Green kimono shirt, green pants, fishnet to go underneath them, with fingerless gloves that sport heavy hand-guards and a red haori to cover it all. And in the center, wrapped carefully in the cloth, is a brightly polished horned hitai-ate, bearing the kanji for oil. The sight makes his eyes burn again, but he doesn’t cry, instead brushing his fingers over the engraved symbol.

“Orochimaru’s such a creepy bastard,” he says, though he can't manage to put much venom into it. “He just happened to have these lying around in my size?”

Karin’s eyes are sad, and she looks away, pushing her glasses up. “They were meant for the brat,” she explains, trying for offhand but falling short. “As a teenager, probably, because he’s going to be a giant idiot just like before. But I guess Orochimaru-sama thinks they’ll serve you better, in light of your recent choices.”

Naruto doesn’t need to know more. He nods his thanks and forces himself to his feet. “Is there somewhere I can change?”

Karin smiles, just a little, and turns in a sweep of crimson hair and feigned impatience. “Like I don’t have better things to do. There's a storage room two doors down on your right. Find it yourself.” She marches out, heeled sandals clacking on the stone, and Naruto follows, amused. Just before he steps out, though, he remembers, and glances back to call, “I’ll be back in a second, brat.”

“Not a brat!” is Jiraiya's loud response, and for the first time in years Naruto can't fight a real smile.

 

 

Orochimaru stares at him for an endless minute when Karin leads him and Jiraiya into the main lab. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes are distant, as though he’s seeing someone else entirely.

“That haircut is hideous,” is all he says, however. “Grow it out.”

Naruto runs a hand over his shorn hair, self-conscious of the way it looks when Jiraiya wore his hair down to his waist for all the time Naruto knew him. Maybe he won't go quite that far, but…longer than it is now, definitely. “I was planning on it,” he defends.

Orochimaru nods once, apparently appeased, and glances down at the white-haired child bouncing on his heels at Naruto's side. “Behave,” he warns, “or I’ll recycle you into fertilizer.”

Jiraiya makes a face at him, crossing his arms over his chest, and pointedly turns away without answering.

A faint, swift, wistful smile crosses Orochimaru’s face, gone before Naruto can truly register it, although he’s absolutely certain he didn’t imagine it. The Sannin picks up a small book with a black cover and offers it to Naruto. “Here. All of my remaining logs of Jiraiya's spy network, though much of it is out of date. Should anyone come looking for you here, they shall be turned away.”

“Thanks,” Naruto answers, and that’s _weird_ , acting as if Orochimaru is an ally, as if he’s a friend. Though, with Sasuke's influence, Naruto supposes that he is, more or less. “If you need to find us…”

“I’ll know where to look.” With another vaguely creepy smile to go along with his definitely creepy words, Orochimaru turns back to his computer, ignoring them entirely.

“Are we going now?” Jiraiya asks loudly, shouldering his small pack and puffing out his chest. “I'm ready for an adventure!”

Another smile before Naruto can prevent it, and on a whim he scuffs a hand through messy white hair. “We’re going, we’re going,” he says, amused, and when Jiraiya cheers and bolts down the corridor Naruto just shakes his head and follows at a more reasonable pace.

(He thinks he feels Orochimaru’s eyes on them as they leave, but doesn’t turn around to see if he’s right.)

The open air is a relief after several hours spent underground, and Naruto turns to follow the path of the breeze as it skims past them, rustling the leaves on the trees and rippling the grasses. “Where do you want to go first?” he asks his new companion, on a whim.

Jiraiya blinks at him, then beams. “I get to choose?” he enthuses, but without waiting for an answer he dramatically spins in a circle and assumes a pose, one finger pointing straight out. “My intuition says…that way!”

This time, the grin is a relief, and Naruto doesn’t even try to contain it. “Towards Suna it is,” he says, and reaches up to adjust his new hitai-ate as he sets off. “We can visit the Kazekage.”

Jiraiya's eyes go wide, and he scurries to keep up with Naruto's longer strides. (So weird, Naruto thinks, helplessly amused by the contrast to what he remembers.) “You know the _Kazekage_? Isn’t he the strongest shinobi in all of Wind Country?”

Naruto thinks of Gaara, straight and proud, very much the Kage his village deserves, and is glad all over again that he didn’t stay in Konoha. It would be nice to stand equal with Gaara, but he doesn’t _need_ to. Being Kazekage is Gaara's form of atonement for all the lives he took before. Naruto's reason was never quite so heavy.

“Of course I know him,” he says. “We’ve been friends for _years_. When I met him he was as short as you, and he was crazy. Well, he’s still crazy, but he’s cool now, too. At least he sleeps sometimes. He never used to.”

“That’s _really_ crazy,” is Jiraiya's assessment. “I _love_ sleeping. Aunt Karin says I'm as lazy as a sloth, but she’s just mean.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“’Cause it’s _true_! She hits me over the head, and she scares Suigetsu so much he turns into water and gets the floor all wet, and she makes vegetables that taste really bad and forces everybody to eat them—”

There's more to the list, but Naruto snorts and tunes it out, because he’s mostly familiar with that kind of lament—complained about Tsunade and Sakura much the same way when he was younger, even. Jiraiya will learn, and quickly if Karin ever catches wind of it.

He lets the boy gripe, though, keeping his eyes on the horizon as his sandals eat up the ground. Having Jiraiya with him makes him think of Boruto, but although he regrets his relationship—or lack thereof—with the boy, staying and becoming Hokage when he didn’t want the job, didn’t want to be a husband, didn’t want to be tied to the village—that would have made things a thousand times worse. Being an absent father who still holds some fondness for his children has to be better than becoming a neglectful asshole because he doesn’t care enough about anything to try harder.

Boruto has every right to resent him, as things stand, and Naruto understands that. He isn’t a good father, isn’t a role model in any way that counts. He hasn’t connected with either of his children, hasn’t tried to. He left his family for parts unknown even to him, without any solid plans to return, and…

And he doesn’t regret it. That’s the most damning part, isn’t it?

Naruto's breath escapes him on a sigh, but before the grey emptiness in his chest can stretch any further he glances down at his new student and asks, “Did Orochimaru teach you any chakra exercises?”

“I'm ten, not two,” is Jiraiya's unimpressed response.

Naruto rolls his eyes. “And?”

“And I suck at them, okay?” Jiraiya crosses his arms over his chest, scowling. “Climbing trees without your hands is _hard_ , and I always blow holes in the bark and fall on my ass. Suigetsu says it’s ‘cause I'm an idiot.”

“Language,” Naruto says automatically, because he remembers that much about parenting, at least. “And I thought Karin _just_ said not to listen to Suigetsu. You’ll be fine. I didn’t learn to climb trees until I was twelve, and I'm strong enough to be Hokage.”

“Really?” Jiraiya sounds interested now. “Orochimaru said Dad’s student was strong, but I didn’t know you were _that_ strong. Why didn’t they make you Hokage, then?”

Naruto looks to the horizon, where deep green forests march up the foot of a low mountain range. There's a pass, if he remembers correctly, that will take them up into Ame. That seems as good a path as any. There will definitely be a few of Jiraiya's old contacts there that he can hunt down, at least. “Just because you _can_ do something doesn’t mean you should. Not if it isn’t something that will make you happy,” he says, and is surprised by the truth in his own words. Then he’s surprised that he’s surprised, because didn’t he know that once, before? Has he forgotten everything he learned as a child, with all the trials he went through?

Maybe it’s for the best that he’s remembering now.

“Like my dad!” Jiraiya says cheerfully. “Orochimaru said he could have been Hokage, too, but he liked traveling more than staying in the village. Do you like traveling too, sensei?”

The title twinges, just a bit, and Naruto looks down into dark eyes, staring up at him with an expression he once felt on his own face. Enthusiasm, interest, an edge of hero-worship, rounded off with is-this-what-family-feels-like and an overwhelming warmth. Or maybe that’s just him projecting.

“I guess I do,” he says, and tips his sakkat, the one part of his previous outfit he decided to keep, down a little further to shield his eyes from the setting sun.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Sakura has a spine, and I don’t care that Kishi retconned that part of her. ~~Sorry not sorry.~~ :)
> 
> Fair warning: I actually really like Boruto and the rest of the next gen (and have a particular weakness for Ino/Sai that might bleed through oops). All the kids are great, and I’d happily adopt them if I didn’t have to accept the epilogue as canon in doing so. Ah, well.

Hanabi is raging again when Boruto gets home from the Academy. She and his mom are in the kitchen, cooling cups of tea between them, and Hanabi is pacing and waving her arms and swearing in a way that’s probably not even _close_ to proper for the Hyuuga Clan Head.

There's a reason Boruto likes his aunt so much.

He pauses in the hallway, listening in, and catches scattered phrases like _asshole_ and _failure of a man_ and _not worth spitting on if he was on fire, damn it, Hinata, I'm going to kill him the next time I see him_. That’s not really surprising—Hanabi has been saying it since Boruto’s dad left and she came over to find Hinata crying in the kitchen.

“It’s all right, Hanabi,” Hinata says soothingly, quiet and gentle and still a little sad, but nothing like she was that first morning. “I—I was thinking, after he left, and…I hadn’t seen Naruto smile in a long time. He was just…bearing it, because he thought he had to.”

“Then he should have _kept_ bearing it!” Hanabi snarls. “What kind of man leaves his family alone and helpless?”

“I'm not helpless,” Hinata reminds her, and even though it’s gentle there's an undertone of steel that makes Boruto remember his father’s warning about how strong his mother can be. “We were happy once, Hanabi, and I can remember that. But we weren’t anymore, and—and sometimes hurting means you're _healing_. I’ll miss him, and I wish things were different, but I loved Naruto. Seeing him unhappy was worse than anything.”

“You're too nice,” Hanabi snaps, and there's a thump and a clatter as she throws herself down into one of the chairs. “Next time I see that asshole, I'm going to hit every one of his tenketsu points and leave him writhing in agony until he grovels at your feet like he should.”

“Hanabi!”

Boruto hides a grin, slipping past the door as soundlessly as he can and heading for his room. Himawari, when he passes her door, is stretched out on her stomach on the rug, carefully building a tower out of tightly colored blocks. She has her tongue caught between her teeth, a look of intense concentration on her face, and Boruto pauses for a moment, smiling at her in a way he’d never actually let her _see_ , since he’s not a _sap_. But she’s cute, and happy, and after her bewilderment the last few days it’s nice to see.

His fingers tighten on the straps of his bookbag at the thought, and Boruto has to look away, anger coiling nova-hot in his gut, though it’s mixed with equal parts hurt. He remembers, all too clearly, the snowball fight their family had years ago, his dad laughing and his mom giggling, fingers and nose so cold they burned but the pain was worth it, because it’s one of Boruto’s best memories.

Looking back now, Boruto can't recall anything even _close_ to that level of happiness lately. His dad has been training to take the Hokage's hat for the past two years, learning everything he can, and he’s rarely home. In that, at least, him just—just _leaving_ isn’t all that different. Boruto is used to lonely dinners with only Himawari and his quietly resigned mother, used to coming out in the morning to find his father just straightening the couch where he always seems to sleep. Other parents don’t do that—Inojin’s don’t, Shikadai’s don’t, not even when they're yelling at each other. Inojin gave him a weird look when he asked, and when _Inojin_ is giving people weird looks, it has to be bad.

Logical, then, to assume that Naruto and Hinata have been having problems for a while. But Boruto doesn’t _want_ to think about it, to think that he was so caught up in the Academy and friends and video games that he completely missed his family falling apart. If he’d noticed—if he’d just _seen_ , then maybe—

“Did you want to play, big brother?” Himawari asks brightly, offering up a bright orange block with a smile. “I'm building a castle.”

“I've got homework,” Boruto says, and pretends not to see her face fall, even though his stomach churns. He can't ignore it for long, though, and guilt makes him offer, “Sorry, Himawari. Maybe when I'm done?”

“Yeah!” Himawari says cheerfully, and turns back to her blocks, sticking her tongue out again in concentration. Boruto chuckles before he can stop himself, but doesn’t stay to watch any longer. It’s a bit of a lie that he was homework—he’s done with it already, since Shino-sensei gave them a little free time in class—but he’s not in the mood to be around anyone right now.

In his room, he shuts the door and drops his bag next to the desk, then flops onto the bed and rolls on his side, staring at the wall. He feels—he doesn’t know _how_ he feels. His father is gone, his mother is sad, and nothing is different but everything has changed.

Hokage is the most important position in the village. It’s been his father’s dream since he was Boruto’s age. That he could leave that behind, walk away from his wife and his son and his daughter—Boruto is disgusted and angry and so, so sad. Sad for himself, for Hinata, for Himawari who barely seems to know her father sometimes.

But…was his father really sad too? Boruto has seen him in the Hokage's office when Kakashi disappears—porn breaks, his dad calls them when he thinks Boruto can't hear, though Hinata scolds him for it—and he just…sits there, surrounded by stacks of paper that nearly reach the ceiling, with none of the life on his face that’s there when he trains. None of the wide grins in the pictures from when he was a kid, which Boruto hardly even remembers seeing in person.

The anger is a heavy, acid thing, eating at his gut. But the lack of understanding hurts too, makes him want to _know_ —

Nothing in Boruto’s life has ever been as important as making his dad proud. He’s a prodigy, the top of his class, and even Shino-sensei calls him a genius shinobi. One of the proudest moments of his life was when his dad mentioned that he was just like his grandfather, and smiled at him. _I guess genius must run in the family_ , he had said. _I was a genius of hard work, but you're the real thing, just like your grandfather!_

His mom used to tell them about when his dad was a kid, all the things he’d managed to do, all the people he’d saved, all the lives he’d changed just by being himself and never, ever giving up. So it’s so strange now, to think that Naruto gave up on being Hokage. That he was _so unhappy_ that he had to leave it all behind and go somewhere else. It’s not a pleasant thought at all, and some little piece of Boruto thinks _what did I do that caused this_ , even though he knows it’s not really that simple.

He’s always managed to do everything he’s attempted, always succeeded easily and without much effort, and it’s accepted, _expected_ of him as Naruto's son. And as much as he loves his father, Boruto has always kind of resented that, too, that no matter what, he’ll never be good on his own merit, just his father’s. But—that doesn’t mean he wants to be _abandoned_ , or to have everyone know that he’s the son of the man who refused to be Hokage.

There's a quiet knock on the door, and Boruto sits up, grabbing for a discarded book so that no one will think he’s moping. “Yeah?” he calls, double-checking to make sure it’s right-side-up and flipping to a random page.

The door opens just a crack and his mother peeks in, giving him a smile. “Boruto, will you be all right watching Himawari for a few hours? I'm going to meet Sakura when she gets done at the hospital and do the shopping.”

Himawari’s good at entertaining herself, and more inclined to make up her own games in her room than come bother him, so it’s not like keeping an eye on her is _difficult_. Boruto shrugs and says, “Sure, I’ll watch her. Don’t worry.”

His mother’s smile gentles, warms. “You're a good boy,” she says fondly. “Thank you, Boruto. There's onigiri in the fridge if you get hungry.”

“Okay. Thanks, Mom.” He watches the door fall shut again, then collapses onto his back and blows out a hard breath.

The inauguration-that-wasn’t happened a week and a half ago. There's been no word from his father since that morning, no attempt to contact his family. Just silence, and honestly, given how little Boruto saw Naruto to begin with, he’s finding it hard to pick out any real changes. And—that says everything, doesn’t it?

Naruto abandoned them a long time ago. It’s just _official_ now. For once Boruto doesn’t have to pretend he’s fine with it, doesn’t have to wait up hoping his father will come home and see the perfect scores he got on an important test. This time they won't wait for him at birthday parties, not cutting the cake until almost midnight because he doesn’t come home. Now he’s just—gone.

Boruto isn’t entirely sure how long he lies there, brooding over that, but the echo of a knock on the front door startles him out of his fugue. He hurries to open it, not bothering to check who’s there first, because the only person it could be is the one who just left.

“Geez, Mom, did you forget your keys _again_ —” he starts, then pulls up short at the sight of the shinobi on the mat.

He’s tall and dark-haired, only one black eye visible beneath the fall of his hair, wearing a long cloak with a lavender lining. His eyes fall on Boruto and widen slightly, but he smiles a little. “Hello. Are either of your parents in?”

Boruto can't even begin to comprehend the question, too overwhelmed with shock and the realization that he’s seen this man in most of his father’s old photos. “You're—you're Sarada’s father! You're Sasuke!”

Something sad passes over Sasuke's face, but he nods. “I am. And you must be Boruto.” At Boruto’s blank stare—because he _knows_ Sasuke hasn’t been in the village since before Sarada was born—he smiles again, small and quick, and offers, “Naruto told me about you. He said you're the best in your year. He’s very proud.”

Abruptly, Boruto wants to cry. His eyes are hot and his throat is tight and his chest feels like it’s full of stone. He takes a breath and it hitches dangerously, almost a sob, and Sasuke's expression turns alarmed. He crouches down, reaching up with his hand but not touching, just hovering worriedly.

“Boruto?” he asks, and the concern is clear on his face. “What’s wrong? What has that dobe done now?”

Boruto screws up his face and rubs his hands over his eyes, trying to keep the tears from falling. “He—he _left_! He left the day he was supposed to become Hokage, and he’s _gone_ and not coming back and Mom is sad and I _hate him_ but—but—”

A heavy hand settles in his hair, and when he manages to look up Sasuke looks somewhere between relieved and resigned. “Naruto left the village? He didn’t take the hat?”

Boruto shakes his head. “He said he couldn’t be happy here, and he didn’t want to make the rest of us unhappy by staying and being miserable all the time, but—”

“That doesn’t make it easier,” Sasuke finishes for him, on the tail end of a faint sigh. He hooks a hand around Boruto’s neck, using gentle pressure to pull him forward, and Boruto is too old for hugs but takes this one anyway, burying his face in the chest of his father’s oldest and greatest friend.

“You're not surprised at all,” he says, and it almost sounds like an accusation, even as Sasuke's arm comes up to wrap around his shoulders.

The man hums softly. “I'm not. To be honest, I can't imagine anything more like hell for the Naruto I remember than having to sit behind a desk all day, dealing with politics and power-grabbing and villages instead of people. He’s been unhappy for a long time; I'm just surprised he finally noticed.”

It’s not _fair._ His dad should be happy _here_ , with his _family_. Why the hell didn’t he just refuse the Hokage's hat and stay?

But—

But he sleeps on the couch every night. Boruto has never caught him and his mom kissing, the way Inojin complains his parents do all the time and everywhere. He doesn’t come home unless he has to, hates his work, and—

 _I just…need some time. My head’s all messy, Boruto. No one else should have to deal with that._ _Take care of your mom and sister, okay? I'm counting on you_.

Of course he will. It’s not like he has a choice, is it?

Sasuke pulls away, touching Boruto lightly on the shoulder as he rises to his feet, but he’s already turning away, his eyes fixed somewhere distant. “Did Naruto say where he was going?”

Boruto grabs the edge of his cloak, pulling him up short. “Wait! Don’t just _leave_!”

There's a long pause, and then Sasuke says gently, “The dobe’s being an overdramatic idiot. I need to find him and hit him over the head for leaving the way he did.”

He doesn’t promise to try and make Naruto come back, Boruto notices, but right now, he doesn’t even care. “Stay!” he insists. “Mom might know where he went, and she’ll be back in a little bit!”

Sasuke stares at him for a long moment, then inclines his head. “All right,” he agrees. “Just until she gets back.”

 

 

“Sasuke,” Sakura says uncomfortably, hovering in the doorway of the living room. She looks anywhere but at him, arms folded in front of her, and Boruto doesn’t have to be a genius to understand awkwardness when he sees it. He glances at his mother, who looks faintly worried, and then back at the man on the couch.

“Sakura.” Sasuke rises to his feet, offering her a smile that falls somewhere between polite and friendly. “I left the divorce papers you sent at the nearest courthouse. They should have been finalized by now.”

Sakura manages to smile back, steadier and stronger, and the confidence Boruto has seen when she’s working as a medic-nin is easing back into her expression. “I know. They notified me two months ago. I'm a free woman.” Her eyes flicker to Boruto, and exasperation replaces the wary warmth. “I take it you came to congratulate our Hokage?”

Sasuke snorts. “And was very surprised to find our perverted teacher still sitting in the chair.” His gaze slides to Hinata, and he asks gently, “Did Naruto tell you where he was going?”

“Everywhere,” Hinata answers, slipping off her coat. Her smile is small and a little sad, but fond. “He said he wanted to wander. I didn’t ask any more.”

The two remaining members of Team 7 share a glance, silent communication that Boruto can't even begin to fathom. “No one’s come looking for me,” Sasuke says, answering an unspoken question. “I would have heard.”

Sakura frowns, hands falling to her hips. “That idiot,” she mutters. “I hope he doesn’t get himself into trouble again.”

“I’ll find him,” Sasuke assures her. He glances at Boruto and smiles, then politely inclines his head to Hinata and heads for the door. But a step away from it, he pauses, not quite looking back even if Boruto thinks he wants to. “Sarada…?”

“Oh? You know her name now?” It’s faintly biting, but Sakura just sighs and brushes her hair back from her face. “She’s fine, Sasuke. When she asks about you, I promise to tell her, but she might not want to see you.”

Boruto is at the right angle to see Sasuke's faint, regretful smile. “I wish Naruto and I were as smart as you, Sakura.”

Sakura rolls her eyes. “Don’t overlook _my_ stupidity, Sasuke. I married you, didn’t I? But what you want as a child isn’t always good for you as an adult, and I finally figured that out. I think Naruto did, too.”

“And this would be why you're smarter. I’ll make the dobe send a letter at least, I promise.”

He leaves with a wave, but Sakura doesn’t watch him go. She lifts her chin and turns to Hinata with a smile that really does reach her eyes. “I’d better get home. You're all right, Hinata?”

“I’ll be fine.” Hinata flushes a little, looking down. “I'm sorry for all the trouble, Sakura.”

“None of that, now,” the pink-haired woman scolds. “You might as well be my sister-in-law, even as things stand. And we’re friends. No matter what you need, I'm here, okay?”

“Thank you.” Hinata catches her hand before she can move away. “So much.”

“Of course.” Sakura squeezes back, just barely, and then follows her former husband out of the apartment.

Boruto waits to be sure his mom really is okay, and not about to start crying again, before he heads down the hall. Himawari is still asleep, curled around her multicolored tower, and the blanket he tossed over her hasn’t fallen off yet, so he leaves her where she is and slips back into his room.

There's a scroll lying on his pillow.

For a long moment, Boruto can't do anything but stare, because he recognizes the scratchy, scrawling hand that wrote his name on the tag. But why would his father send him a letter? Why would he send it with a summons, if he did, rather than just dropping it in the mail? Does he even want to read it, knowing who it’s from?

He does, apparently, because he has the scroll in hand before he can even consider the motion, and the seal parts easily under his thumbnail. A breath, anticipation and anger and dread all coiling inside of him, and Boruto yanks it open like he’s expecting it to try and leap away.

There's a sketch, hastily done, and certainly nothing Inojin would call art. Boruto is fairly certain it’s supposed to be a river with three waterfalls feeding it, though he tips it sideways and squints dubiously at it for a minute before he decides that he’s right. Beneath the drawing is his father’s handwriting, legible through familiarity more than anything else.

_ Ame _

_Score: 6/10_

_Notes: WET. I don’t think I've seen the sun in a week. Mediocre ramen, too. But I met a cloth merchant who forges such good papers that they’ve fooled three daimyō and a Kage—though not at the same time. She said she’d keep an eye out for any information, in Ero-Sennin’s memory. One spy down, a few hundred to go._

Spies. And Boruto has heard enough about his dad’s old teacher to understand exactly what that means. His dad hasn’t abandoned Konoha. He’s still serving it.

It’s cold comfort, when his dad already abandoned them in the name of his duty once before. But—Boruto stares at the message, then unrolls it to the very bottom, and finds another line of messy writing.

 _Boruto, I know you probably don’t want to talk to me. I know you probably don’t want to_ think _about me. And you can throw these letters away if you want, but…I hope you don’t. I couldn’t stay in Konoha, and I know I should have. I'm sorry for being so selfish. You're going to be amazing, just like your grandfather, and I'm proud of what you’ve done. If I had stayed, I don’t think I could have managed to remember that._

_Someone I'm traveling with said he’d give anything to get a letter from his father in the afterlife, and it made me think. Probably about time, right? But I thought I should try, no matter what._

_I won't ask you to forgive me, but I’ll apologize anyway._

_I'm sorry, Boruto. I love you._

There's no familiar scrawling signature that Boruto has seen on a thousand official documents, but he doesn’t need it. He stares at the scroll for a long moment, grip so tight it nearly rips the edges of the paper, and then takes a shaking breath and rolls it back up tightly. He tosses it into a drawer in his desk, then slams the drawer shut and sits down hard on his bed, scowling at nothing.

What a stupid, useless message.

What a stupid, useless father.

He’s never going to be another Naruto, and it’s something he’s always known. Naruto made himself from nothing, in the midst of hatred and scorn and fear. He proved that he was a hero, made everyone see him for who he was. Boruto may be a prodigy, but he’s always had support, family, friends. He’s the Hokage candidate’s son, oldest child of the candidate everyone was absolutely sure would be the Nanadaime, and he’s never had to look far for people who love him. Expecting his dad to be around—that was natural. That’s how things _should_ be. But now, nothing is like it’s supposed to be, and Boruto will have to adjust. There's no choice.

So he’ll be strong. For his mother, for Himawari, for himself.

There's no shadow to chase, no legacy looming over him. It’s still _there_ , because no one can change what Naruto has already accomplished, but without his father in the village, every eye trained on him…

Maybe it will be a little easier to bear.

Boruto casts another glance at his desk, at the hidden letter, and throws himself down onto the mattress, crossing his arms behind his head. “Asshole,” he mutters, scowling, and then resolutely closes his eyes.

He thinks of birthdays without his father, of a snowball fight where everyone laughed. Thinks of the way his father smiled at him that last moment before he left Boruto’s room, so tired and _old_ , and the way he looked sitting at the Hokage's desk without any joy in his face at all.

_You're going to be amazing, just like your grandfather, and I'm proud of what you’ve done. If I had stayed, I don’t think I could have managed to remember that._

_Whatever,_ Boruto thinks stubbornly, and wills himself to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t think I can make my anti-ending tag any bigger or more obvious, so if you disagree with that part of the plot and are reading anyway, I'm just…confused. But please don’t rant at me about it—that’s just not cool. There are plenty of other stories to suit you better. This is based on my personal opinion, that’s all. :)

Yamato isn’t quite insubordinate enough with his Hokage to question him in front of his shinobi, but that doesn’t mean he waits long after the office doors fall closed behind Sasuke to turn and ask, “Don’t you think you're being a little cruel?”

Kakashi hums like he’s very, very interested in the trade agreement in front of him, which Yamato knows full well is a lie. “How am I being cruel, exactly, Tenzō?”

“It’s _Yamato_ ,” he protests, entirely exasperated after so many years of beating the same thing into his commander’s thick skull. Folding his arms over his chest, he levels a rebuking look at Kakashi's bowed head. “And surely there are more useful things for Sasuke to be doing than chasing four steps behind Naruto. You could at least give him current information.”

Kakashi peers at him over the top of the document, grey eyes crinkled around the edges. “Ah, but Tenzō,” he says, and continues, cheerfully heedless of the ANBU commander’s aggravated _‘It’s Yamato!’_ , “I'm reinforcing his strength of character. That’s my duty as his former sensei and his current Hokage.”

Yamato stares at him for a long moment, then sighs wearily and rubs his forehead. “You're being petty,” he concludes, and doesn’t need to be a Yamanaka to be sure he’s absolutely right. The further crinkling of Kakashi's eyes gives him away, and besides that, at this point Yamato has the most finely-tuned bullshit meter in the Elemental Countries. “Making Sasuke chase after Naruto with _bad information_ is all revenge for Sasuke making you chase _him_.”

“In my defense,” Kakashi says cheerfully, ignoring the fact that he is, on the whole, entirely indefensible, “I probably won't stretch it out for three whole years.” He drops the trade agreement to the side in favor of making grabby hands at Yamato, who ignores him pointedly. After several seconds of stalemate, Kakashi droops back into his chair and pouts at him. “ _Tenzō_.”

“It’s _Yamato_ ,” Yamato repeats, frowning at him. “Do I have to go back to calling you Kakashi-senpai to make a point?”

He knows the moment he says it that it’s entirely the wrong choice of words, and doesn’t need Kakashi's suddenly far more cheerful smile to tell him that. “You know I'm always up for a bit of roleplay, my cute little kouhai. If you can grow your hair out again it will be really convincing.”

“ _Not in the office, Hokage-sama_ ,” Yamato hisses, trying not to flush. Sometimes he swears that the portraits of the past Hokage are judging him. Tsunade certainly does it often enough when she’s here in person.

“Maa, maa, I was just going along with your suggestion—”

It’s probably a bad sign that Yamato sometimes assigns himself grueling twelve-hour patrols around Konoha's borders just to get some peace and quiet away from his long-term lover. Unfortunately, Yamato is very good at making bad decisions, and Kakashi is most of them.

Of course, the way Kakashi is pouting at him is the culprit more often than not. Not overt, not despondent, just—just a ‘why won't you do this for me’ sad kind of look Yamato is certain he’s seen on at least one of Kakashi's ninken before. He strangles a sigh, all but able to see his willpower crumbling, and slides sideways as subtly as he’s able. There's no point letting his capitulation go to Kakashi's head, after all.

Because he’s an opportunist above all, Kakashi doesn’t wait for an invitation. He snags Yamato around the waist and drags him down onto his lap, ignoring the fact that there's barely an inch in height difference between them, and that Yamato is still in his bulky armor. With a low sigh, he leans forward, burying his face in the curve of Yamato’s neck.

Vaguely, Yamato hopes that whoever needs to see the Hokage next is the type to knock, but he doesn’t move, and he certainly doesn’t protest. Threading his fingers through wiry silver hair, he smooths it back, and wonders how much grey Kakashi would be sporting if his hair was another color. Too much, he thinks, and curves his fingers around the back of Kakashi's skull as if by doing so he can protect him from the wear and stress of his position.

Kakashi's nose presses against the skin beneath his ear, and another sigh warms his skin. There's a momentary pause, just enjoying the closeness, and then—

“I think I've figured out why you don’t like it when I call you Tenzō,” Kakashi says, and that tone is perfectly innocent, even if the sideways look he slants at Yamato is anything but.

“Have you,” Yamato says, already sliding back towards aggrieved, but still willing to humor his old commander. “I don’t suppose you’ve come to the conclusion that it’s because that _isn’t my name_?”

“Tenzō is a good name,” Kakashi tells him solemnly. “You just don’t like when I call you that in public, since it’s the one I use in bed.”

Not even years of experience with Kakashi's innuendo and teasing is enough to prevent the hot flush that rises in Yamato’s cheeks. “ _Kakashi_ ,” he hisses. “That is not—that’s not why!”

“Makes you want to get me right back into bed,” Kakashi continues cheerfully, watching him blush with obvious amusement. “Not that I blame you—ow. Tenzō, you really shouldn’t hit your Hokage.”

Yamato doesn’t deign to grace that with a response, peeling Kakashi's arms from around his waist and rising to his feet. “Work,” he says instead, because pouty Kakashi is easier to handle than flirty Kakashi. Mostly because Yamato has no willpower or resistance where the latter is concerned. “Don’t you have a meeting with the Clan Heads to prepare for?”

Thoughtfulness slides over the playfulness, and Kakashi looks away, out the wide windows and over Konoha proper. “They're going to want a decision,” he says, to himself more than Yamato.

Yamato has all the sympathy in the world for what Kakashi is facing right now, and it leeches softness into his tone when he asks, “Can you blame them? It’s an important matter.”

Surprisingly, Kakashi's eyes crinkle into another smile—smaller, quieter, still amused but with an undercurrent of clear fondness. “I suddenly have a lot more sympathy for the Sandaime. We’re in the same situation right now, and I don’t quite know how I got here.”

They are, aren’t they? Yamato hadn’t really thought of it before, but…retirement looming, age pressing, the most promising replacement still finding his feet in the wide world. Naruto's decision to leave had come as a shock, and Yamato still halfway expects to walk around the corner and see him sitting in the midst of vast stacks of paperwork, complaining about Kakashi's work ethic and filling out forms until darkness crept in through the windows.

And how sad, he realizes with a little start, that that’s the image of Naruto he defaults to now, when for so many years it was a burning-bright smile and a will that could make the world spin backward.

The previously light mood is weighted now, Kakashi lost in his own thoughts, and Yamato takes one look at him and opens his mouth. _Any_ Kakashi is better than broody Kakashi. “I prefer Kiba, myself,” he says, and when grey eyes blink sharply and glance up, one brow arching, Yamato schools his face to straightness and adds, as if mistaking incredulity for a request to elaborate, “As Hokage candidate, I mean.”

Complete silence. Kakashi stares at him as if he’s trying to pick out a tell, and Yamato stares back without letting his inner laughter show. Really, people always forget that he has a sense of humor, too—doubly entertaining because Kakashi is pretty much the one he got it from.

“…I see,” Kakashi says, although he clearly doesn’t. “Kiba.”

Yamato gives him his best innocent smile, shamelessly appropriated from Sai. “Of course. I’ve always wanted a dog.”

Polite confusion gives way to realization and then amusement, and Kakashi snorts. “Mine aren’t enough for you?” he asks, rising to his feet and gathering another stack of files, though his eyes are on his ANBU commander. “Even though Bull definitely likes you more than he likes me, Tenzō?”

“Now you're just fishing for sympathy,” Yamato retorts, helpfully picking up the ones Kakashi missed—probably deliberately—and dumping them on top of the pile. One of the remaining scrolls catches his eye, and he scoops it up, not needing the familiar messy writing to tell him who it’s from. “Do you want me to file Naruto's report?” Technically, the man can be considered ANBU right now, given his long-term, deep-cover mission. Spymasters generally have the rank of at the very least an ANBU captain, even if they rarely have to use it. Besides, if Yamato is the one to file it, there's very little chance of Sasuke finding it, if he ever thinks to look at Naruto's mission log.

It’s maybe slightly possible that Yamato learned his pettiness from Kakashi too. And chasing after Sasuke—listening to Naruto _pine_ as they chased after Sasuke—was aggravating enough that Yamato isn’t entirely opposed to a bit of harmless payback.

A hand grips the collar of his flak jacket, and Kakashi pulls him in, getting an arm around his waist and herding him back against the desk. The kiss is deep and hot and entirely unexpected, making Yamato’s head spin with a sudden wave of desire. He leans into Kakashi without thinking, answers that hungry mouth with every bit of passion he has for this beautiful, maddening man who has encompassed every bit of goodness in his world since he was a child—

Kakashi breaks off, moves away, leaves Yamato caught off guard and reeling as he takes an aborted half-step after him. “Meeting!” Kakashi reminds him, impishly cheerful again, and takes his stack of paperwork with him as he heads for the door. “You’ll take care of that report, right, Tenzō?”

The door is already swinging shut, but Yamato is entirely certain that Kakashi hears him—and is laughing at him—when he cries, frustrated and exasperated and just _done_ , “It’s _Yamato_!”

Bad decisions. Kakashi is most of them. Yamato closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and reminds himself that killing the Hokage is a crime. Even if no one in Konoha would ever blame him.

 

 

Ame is wet, Suna is hot, and Iwa is cold. There are a slew of villages between the three, all similar but never the same, and a scattered group of people who are just a little more observant than is average, and mercenary enough or loyal enough to sell what they know. They are retired shinobi, prostitutes, travelers, merchants, housewives, farmers—anyone and everyone who can provide the information Konoha depends on like blood. It’s scattered, fragmented, and apart it means nothing at all. Naruto's job is to piece it together into a coherent picture that his village can use.

He remembers, from traveling with Jiraiya the first time, just how it needs to be done. Whispers of a bad harvest in southern Iwa and a heavy one in southern Konoha, plus talk of bandits in Ame’s passes that the village headman has no resources to deal with, plus a growing dissatisfaction with those in charge along the Iwa-Ame border—he collects them, string them together, and sends Kakashi a report advising an increase in merchant escort mission prices.

Talk of one of the Daimyō’s favored nobles grabbing up land that’s not truly available, plus rumors of a growing ambition—those he gathers, unconfirmed, and passes on. He remembers enough of his Hokage training to know that Konoha prospers the most when the Daimyō doesn’t put full faith in anyone in his court—shinobi are a blade to be wielded, a poisoned dagger in the dark, and the daimyō is the hand around the hilt. Tax money serves as a large portion of Konoha's budget, because there’s simply not enough demand for missions in the quantity that would be required to pay for everything, and even in times of peace it serves the Hokage well to sow rumors of dissent. The daimyō might think they're serving him faithfully, providing protection before he even knows he needs it, but Naruto has learned exactly how many minor threats Konoha inflates and exaggerates to make the village look indispensable.

(He thinks, as he writes the report by firelight, little Jiraiya asleep with his head on Naruto's thigh, of just how many lies the shinobi world is built on. Madara and Obito were right about that, at least, even if they weren’t about anything else. The reality of a ninja’s life is unflinching truth and deep shadows in equal parts, and growing up comes with learning how to balance them. Not Naruto's strong suit, and he wonders just a little how his Jiraiya managed, long ago.

But then, for all his optimism, Jiraiya was pragmatic too. Naruto just hopes he can find the same equilibrium, given enough practice.)

“Where do we go next?” Jiraiya asks cheerfully, about eighty percent of his attention on the two pretty civilian girls giggling next to the corner store as he flips a kunai through his fingers. Naruto gives it about ten more seconds before he fumbles and almost takes off his thumb. Again.

“I don’t know,” he says, reaching up to push his hair out of his face. Almost as long as he wore it as genin, now, and it feels a little like a rebellion, no matter how silly that sounds. Like going backwards, but without any of the negative connotations to the phrase. “Which direction do you want to go?”

The kunai fumbles, slips. Jiraiya yelps, jerking his hand back, but not quite fast enough to keep the blade from scoring a deep line of red down the pad of his thumb.

Naruto, who was a hell of a lot more sympathetic the first three times this happened, swallows down a snicker and turns away to hide his grin.

“Hey!” Jiraiya squawks, bouncing after him. “I'm _hurt_! You're my mentor! Shouldn’t you be making sure I don’t bleed to death, jerk? And—hey! I thought _I_ got to pick our direction.”

“Then pick one!” Naruto retorts, rapping his knuckles against wild white hair.

The little boy yelps, wriggling out of his grasp with all the desperation of a child attempting to preserve his coolness factor. Naruto knows the feeling with; traveling with his Jiraiya never seemed to do much for his dignity, even when he wasn’t henged into a girl for the old pervert’s amusement.

…Sometimes Naruto looks back on his travels with Jiraiya and can't help but be _absolutely astonished_ that Tsunade never actually beat his old mentor _to death_ , given the amount of creepy stuff he pulled.

There's a moment of silence as Jiraiya squints into the distance, probably attempting to look contemplative but mostly coming off as constipated. Then, with an air of sudden enlightenment, he raises a finger and declares grandly, “East!” then bounces left.

With a roll of his eyes, Naruto catches the back of his shirt and drags him around so that they're _actually_ going east. Jiraiya sticks his tongue out at him, pulling his eyelid down with one finger, but doesn’t dwell; he bolts forward, sandals clattering on the hard-packed earth of the road, and leaves Naruto to bring up the rear. Chuckling, Naruto follows, offering a wave to the pretty potter at the end of the street. She waves back, flashing him a hand-sign he’s learned means _good luck_ , and then vanishes into her shop.

(Her mother was the one Jiraiya knew, during his time as spymaster. The older woman had cried when she learned he was years dead, and Naruto felt it like the pang of loss in his own chest all over again. He wonders, a little regretfully, if Jiraiya ever knew the potter’s mother loved him, because there was no mistaking the look in her eyes. But then, Jiraiya never quite managed to comprehend his own worth to the people around him, gaze set firmly on the future as he forged ahead, and Naruto resents it, a little. Resents the toads’ prophecy, and how it changed Jiraiya's life into a never-ending quest, always looking, weighing, planning. Planning for a student who could save the world or destroy it, and Naruto hates that those are two sides of the same coin.)

“Come _on_ , old man!” Jiraiya shouts from up ahead, turning back to wave impatiently at him. “Let’s find someplace cool to stop tonight!”

Naruto has always been of the firm opinion that his Jiraiya deserved every bit of hell Naruto gave him while they were traveling, for being such an unrepentant pervert if nothing else. The last few months haven’t changed his mind, especially the first time little Jiraiya tried to sneak into a women’s bathhouse and got forcefully ejected, but he does wonder how much of this is how own karma coming back to him.

“I'm not old,” he retorts, even as he quickens his pace. “You're just a brat.”

Jiraiya turns to stick his tongue out at him again, fails to lift his sandals high enough, and trips. With a squawk of mixed surprise and indignation, he windmills his arms, staggers, and falls squarely on his ass.

“Come on,” Naruto says cheerfully, sailing past him. “You’re holding us up, brat. I want to get to the Waterfall Country border by sunset.”

There's a fit of outrage from behind him, and Naruto smothers his laughter, turning his face up towards the morning sky. It’s blue and endless, seen from the top of a plateau, and Naruto feels his breath catch a little when he comes to the curve where the land begins to slope away. Iwa is laid out before him, the jagged, rocky pillars of the border a faint haze on the horizon, with deep green pine forests in between, and there's an itch in Naruto's chest, a restlessness in his feet.

“Last one to the trees has to buy the winner lunch!” Jiraiya crows, bolting past him with his pack bumping wilding against his back, and Naruto can't help but laugh, even as he commits the sight before him to memory. He’ll try to recreate it on paper in his next letter to Boruto, he thinks, watching with amusement as Jiraiya hurtles headlong down the slope. He waits, timing it perfectly to let the kid think he’s going to win, and then calls up his chakra and _moves_.

He’s waiting, lounging casually against the very first pine, when Jiraiya staggers around an outcropping of boulders. The look of outrage on the boy’s face is absolutely _priceless_ , and Naruto laughs until he actually _cries._

 

 

_ Suna _

_Score: 9/10_

_Notes: HOT. At least the company makes up for it. Gaara's just as cool as always, and his people are happy. He probably knew why I was poking around in the lower districts—Gaara's smart like that, and even if he wasn’t, Kankuro would definitely notice—but he didn’t say anything, so I think that means it’s okay. Good ramen here, at least—this guy could be Teuchi’s brother or something. And there's a weaver near the market who knows more about Suna’s shinobi deployments than even Gaara does, I’ll bet. You’d think shinobi would realize they shouldn’t underestimate someone just because she’s blind. Good for Konoha, though!_

 

 

 

_ Iwa _

_Score: 7/10_

_Notes: Did I miss the part where winter hit, or is it just here? I think it’s just here. Also, the border is ridiculous. I kept having flashbacks to very big things trying to eat me. Had to be careful making connections, too—there's still a lot of people who are pretty rabidly anti-Konoha._ Especially _anti-Minato. Still, some of the people were cool, and didn’t mind going back to gathering rumors. If I have to set foot in even_ one _more brothel, though, I'm going to find a way to kick Ero-Sennin’s ass in the afterlife. Or maybe I’ll start making connections in all-male brothels, just to spite him._

 _…If you're sharing these with your mother, Boruto, please cross that out before you show her._ Please _. I like my head where it is._

 

_ Taki _

_Score: 2/10_

_Notes: These people are crazy. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at a gourd without flinching again. Sorry, Gaara._

_The newest Gama told me that you got over a hundred on your unit in school. Good job! I sometimes can't believe how smart you are, Boruto, especially with an idiot like me as a father. Your grandparents would be so proud._

 

 

Boruto rubs the edge of the parchment between his fingers, frowning down at the most recent message. There's a pile of them in his desk now, carefully hidden, and…

He wants to write back. It’s startling, realizing that, but he already has the beginning of his response in his head, ready to put down on paper. Ready to send, and maybe it’s not forgiveness, but…it doesn’t have to be, does it? Can't it be enough, just this? Because his dad has never remembered his schoolwork before, no matter the score, but this time he must have asked his summons to check. Must have wanted to know, and that’s more interest in his life than Naruto has shown in _years_ , even if he’s a hundred miles away right now.

 _My head’s all messy, Boruto. No one else should have to deal with that,_ he had said. Maybe this is what he meant.

When he was talking about the shinobi rules, Shino-sensei told them that emotional distance brings clarity—it’s one of the reasons civilians hire shinobi for spying, or for assassinations, beyond the fact that they have more skills. Not being directly involved in a situation makes it easier to see all the angles, all the flaws and secrets and snags. Sometimes people aren’t even aware of a bias until they’re removed from a situation entirely. And—it was probably the same for his dad.

Clarity is strange. Understanding is even stranger. Boruto stares at the messy slant of ink on paper and kind of wishes he could go back to resentment, to anger. That was easier than this reluctant _knowing_. It doesn’t make him any more likely to forgive, not yet—maybe not ever—but…

He’s not quite so angry anymore, and maybe that’s a start.

His bedroom door creaks as it’s pushed open, and Boruto freezes, caught with no opportunity to hide the letter in his hands. He jerks his head up, ready to spit out excuses, and—

“What are you reading, big brother?” Himawari asks cheerfully, clambering onto his bed and flopping out on her stomach beside him. She squints at the drawing on the page, and asks dubiously, “Is that a tongue? Did you try an’ draw a monster?”

Boruto snickers before he can help it, because their father is a lot things, but definitely not an artist. “It’s a secret,” he tells Himawari on a whim, and lowers the scroll so she can see it more easily. “You can't tell Mom, all right?”

“Okay!” Himawari agrees, always happy to share a secret with him, and Boruto can't help but smile at her.

“I think this is supposed to be Taki’s tree and waterfall,” he explains as she cranes her head to study the inked scribbles. “It’s, uh. A letter. From Dad. He sent me a bunch of them, if you want to see. This one is from when he was in Taki.”

Himawari’s face scrunches up as she tries to remember something. “That place with the Hero Water that Uncle Kakashi told us about? Where Dad and Sasuke helped them save the village?”

Boruto remembers that story, too. “Yeah,” he agrees, and gathers up the other scrolls he’s received, laying them out between himself and Himawari. “He went to Iwa, too, and Ame, and Suna. See? He sent pictures of all of them.”

“Are you going to send a picture back?” Himawari wants to know, her pale eyes lighting up. “I can help you draw it! I've got lots of crayons!”

Boruto looks at her bright face for a moment, hesitating. But…he does want to write something back, and maybe if he and Himawari do it together it will be easier. “Sure,” he agrees, and smiles back at her. “Thanks, Himawari. What kind of picture do you want to send?”

It’s not forgiveness. Boruto doesn’t know if he can ever fully manage that. But it’s a start, it’s a step forward, and for now that’s more than enough.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Drag the Mountain Down Artwork](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7461108) by [OyajiMurakami](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OyajiMurakami/pseuds/OyajiMurakami)




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